


Ripple Effect

by Chemicallywrit



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Friends to Lovers, One-Sided Attraction, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, actually it’s not especially one-sided, anyway join me in the feelings pit for chicken man, it’s just the self-loathing getting in the way, which reminds me, you know because it’s shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemicallywrit/pseuds/Chemicallywrit
Summary: In which love can’t save you, but it helps.I am a simple woman: I fall for the most trainwreck character in a video game, I work it out in prose.(Also, yes, I named my farmer after a star trek character, and I have neither explanation nor apology.)
Relationships: Shane/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 143





	1. New In Town

Shane would have liked to say, in retrospect, that he’d noticed the farmer from the beginning, but he hadn’t. 

She’d walked up and introduced herself as he was making his way to the saloon for the night, that much he remembered, but he’d already been hitting the sauce and he couldn’t recall his exact words later, just that he’d brushed her off and hadn’t really registered that she was new in town.

Janeway was the name he overheard that night at the saloon. He wasn’t sure if it was a last name or a first. He didn’t remember much else from that night. Or any night, really…

The days melted into each other, one after another in streaks and drips and smears, a tapestry of unsatisfying blandness broken up, on occasion, by the wind off the ocean as he contemplated the one idea he had to interrupt the river of suck.

And then one day, the farmer bought him a beer.

“Let me get another for this guy,” she told Gus, and Shane looked up to find he was the eponymous guy.

His mental boat, sliding lazily down the river of suck, hit a rock.

Shane blinked, trying to focus on this moment. There was an empty glass in his hand and a stool underneath him and a wall at his back, and the farmer was handing him another beer.

“Um.” His hands caught up before his blurry brain did and put his empty glass on the bar to accept the new one. Her name surfaced from the depths. “Uh. Thanks. Thanks, Janeway.”

She smiled at him, and he suddenly remembered that she’d said hello every time she passed him in town. And he’d said something rude in return, every time, and what did she want, anyway? “Don’t you have work to do?”

Her smile was replaced by a raised eyebrow. She turned and left the saloon, without a word.

And that was when he noticed the farmer, noticed that she had dark eyes that sparkled like moonlight on the lake.

The thought lasted one full minute before it was swallowed by melancholy.


	2. Flavor

“I heard you like peppers.”

Shane looked up, startled. Yes, he had seen Janeway come into the saloon and say hello to Leah, and yes, he had hastily looked away and downed his beer to sink back into his reverie, but several minutes had passed since then and he’d genuinely forgotten. “What?”

“I said,” Janeway repeated, holding out a paper bag, “I heard you like peppers.”

Shane stared dumbly at the paper bag. “I...yeah?”

“I have some extra,” Janeway said, pressing the bag a little closer. “They’re for you.”

It was the barest effort to turn his wrist up to accept the bag, but it felt like it took an age to accomplish. As it landed softly in his palm his fingers curled automatically, crinkling the rough paper.

“These are my favorite,” he murmured, and then looked back to Janeway. “Thank you.”

She smiled again, and for a moment her eyes sparkled. “Enjoy those.”

And then she was gone.

Shane directed his eyes to focus with limited success. He put down his empty glass so he could open the bag.

The smell of them filled his nostrils, cool and fresh and peppery. Something about it sobered him, a little.

“Weird,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Not so weird,” Gus said from the other side of the bar, where he was drying a glass. “She’s a generous soul, that one.”

Ah. So this hadn’t necessarily been a present for him; just a present.

Even so, at midnight, when he stumbled drunk into the messy room that he rented from his aunt, he couldn’t help but reach for one and pop it into his mouth.

The crunch, the vague sweetness, the snap of spice on his tongue—it was so much, so sudden, and he was no slouch when it came to spice, but even so, his eyes inexplicably filled with tears.


	3. Regular Supply

It was summer, and the farmer brought him peppers every few days now.

“Why are you doing this?” Shane asked her, after the fourth bag.

She’d taken a seat at the bar today; looked like she intended to stay, or Shane wouldn’t have bothered asking. Shane, for his part, had held off on a third and fourth drink in anticipation of her coming, and was unusually clear-headed for this time of night.

“Mm.” Janeway considered the question. “Did you know my grandpa?”

Shane frowned. There used to be an old man who ran the farm, back when Shane was a teenager, but that had been ages ago, before the dark cloud of his own mind started haunting him. Or maybe that was when it had started. “Yeah.”

“He always said there was no point in good fortune if you didn’t share it with your neighbors,” Janeway said mildly, taking a drink of her Joja cola. Not a drinker, he noted, with some annoyance he couldn’t quite place.

“But the mayor likes peppers just as much as I do.”

Janeway snorted. “But I don’t like the mayor.”

Well that didn’t track.

“Anyway, you look like you could use it.” Janeway took a long pull on her drink.

“Some peppers are not going to fix the problems I have,” Shane said darkly. Of course, they didn’t hurt...when all he could make himself eat was a microwave burrito or a plain piece of bread, it was nice to have something spicy and crunchy as well, but still.

“Even little pebbles make ripples.” Janeway noticed his frown. “That’s my grandpa again. But if you’d rather I stop bringing you peppers…”

“Nah, I’ll take ‘em,” Shane said hastily.

She looked amused. Making fun of him, probably. But the twinkle-eyed smile was nice.

Janeway downed the end of her cola, dug a few coins out of her pocket for Gus, and clapped him on the shoulder. “See you later, Shane.”

He watched her go, feeling an unfamiliar wrenching deep in his gut.

It hurt.

“Hey Gus?” Shane flagged him down. “Double whiskey.” He had some catching up to do.


	4. Parched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've triggered a cutscene!

The summer came and went, and the luminous jellies passed the beach by Pelican Town, and the farmer’s last gift of peppers ran out.

Shane didn’t really like living through any season, but it was easier to live through summer. He didn’t have to drag a coat out of the closet or (more often) off the floor before he could go get a drink at the saloon. Sometimes he wouldn’t bother, letting the cold seep into his bones and then letting the beer warm him back up again.

This fall hit him especially hard, though. He didn’t know why. Not that it mattered.

He found himself wandering toward the ocean cliffs much earlier in the season than usual, a bottle of cooking wine hanging from one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. It had only been a week since the last time. His feet only got so far before his brain kicked in, saying no, not today, the timing isn’t quite right, and he ended up on the dock of the lake instead.

He was feeling queasy, truth be told, a combination of disgust at his own cowardice, relief that no decisions needed to be made tonight, and cheap wine sloshing in his otherwise empty stomach. Marinating in malaise. The wine bottle was half empty. How had that happened?

Drifting amongst the sound of crickets and the soft lapping of the lake came a new sound. Whistling. He threw a glance over his shoulder.

There was a figure at the head of the dock with a fishing pole over their shoulder. They stopped, outlined in shadow. “Shane?”

Shane squinted. “Janeway?”

“Nearly scared me to death.” She stepped into the light of the lantern. “Hi.”

The thought that she’d be scared puzzled him a little. Ah, but she’d come from the city. People weren’t so friendly. “Up late?”

“Uh, yeah.” She meandered down to the end of the dock to stand beside him. “I thought I’d try to catch some walleye, and then Willy told me that they don’t come out much unless it’s raining, but I already had my pole out, so…” She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s late. Not sure it’s worth it.”

Shane was struck with an unfamiliar urge: he didn’t want to be alone. He peeled the second-to-last can of beer out of the six-pack. “Here, have a cold one.”

“Oh, no thanks,” she said. A little too quickly, actually.

That twinge of annoyance came back. “C’mon. Nice and cold.”

She looked, not at him, but at the beer, with a strange sort of intensity. “I really shouldn’t.”

“You’re not too good to drink with me.” It wasn’t quite a question, but it was a challenge.

Janeway bit her lip. She had such a neat little cupid’s bow mouth. She hesitated, and then took the beer.

The annoyance turned just a little smug. Shane took a long quaff of his bottle.

He heard the crack of the can opening beside him, but a glance out of the corner of his eye showed that Janeway made no move to take a drink. They stood in silence, watching the water, and Shane felt himself sinking again.

“Buh, life,” he muttered.

“What?”

He took another swig. “You ever feel like…” He searched his brain for words, something to map the river of suck. “...like no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail? Like you’re stuck in a miserable abyss, and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day?”

Janeway didn’t respond. He hadn’t meant the question to be rhetorical. He glanced over at her again to find her staring into the top of her beer can.

She wasn’t really listening. Or like the rest of his so-called neighbors in this town, she didn’t know what to say and was therefore ignoring him.

He heaved a sigh. “I just feel like... no matter how hard I try, I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.”

“I know what you mean,” Janeway said softly.

The statement surprised him. His automatic reaction was to jeer, yeah, you and your happy little farm really seem to be struggling, but before he got a word out, she’d tipped the beer can into her mouth, leaned her head back, and chugged the whole thing.

Well. Didn’t get that from someone who was too good to drink. Shane got the sudden inescapable impression that he’d messed something up.

“Fast drinker, huh?” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Woman after my own heart.”

She shook her head, and crushed the can into a disc between her palms. “It’s not about strength.”

“What?”

“Climbing out of the abyss. It’s not about strength, Shane.”

He didn’t really know what she meant. Probably too drunk to process it, honestly, and the look on her face, how she was staring out into the water like she was ready for a fight, was distracting. She fiddled with the squashed can in her fingers.

He downed the rest of the wine and looked at her again. Did she know that her eyes looked like the moonlight on the water? He wanted desperately to tell her.

Before he could, though, Janeway sighed, rubbing her face. “You ever get the feeling that you’re too stupid to be happy?”

Too weak, too sad, too tired, too pathetic, yes, but too stupid wasn’t a common one for him. She didn’t think she was stupid, did she? “Something like that.”

Her face twisted into a little grimace.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he added, on a whim.

“Remains to be seen.” Janeway slipped the aluminum disc into her pocket.

“Don’t uh... don’t make drinking like that a habit, huh?” He waved his empty bottle at her. “You’ve got a future ahead of you still.”

“Ha.” It wasn’t a laugh, not quite. He didn’t know what she meant by it, and she did not elaborate.

For the second time that night, he chickened out. “Welp. My liver’s begging me to stop. Better call it a night.”

Janeway turned her head to look him in the eye, and her undivided attention was almost too much for him to handle. “You gonna make it home all right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Shane picked up his beer, wearing its plastic ring where its brethren used to be like a collar, and turned to leave. “See you around, Janeway.”

“Take care, Shane.”

He left her on the dock looking out onto the water, those three words echoing in his head.


	5. Richer Things

“Shane!”

He’d been dissociating hard, so Janeway appearing beside him, landing on the wall next to him with a thump, almost made him jump. “Um—”

“Try this.” She twisted the lid off a jar and held it out to him. The jar was full of something liquid and yellowish.

Ah, that wasn’t suspicious at all. “What is it?” he said, leaning away a little.

“Mayonnaise, you weirdo, try it.”

Dubious, he stuck his pinky in the mayo and then into his mouth. “Mm—Yoba, that’s good!”

“Right?” She threw out the hand that was not holding the jar. “Why did I ever buy anything? Ever? There are some hipsters in Zuzu City who would pay through the nose to make an aioli out of this.”

“The hell is an aioli?”

She gave him a look of perfect and unassailable deadpan. “Scientists still aren’t sure.”

That pulled a laugh out of his guts. He took another fingerful absentmindedly. “You must have used some good eggs for this. It’s really rich.”

Janeway looked pleased. “They’re from my chickens.”

Mm, this was interesting. “What breeds?”

“Oh I don’t know. I bought them from Marnie.” She shrugged. “One is brown and one is white, and I love them. That’s all I know.”

Shane’s sluggish brain searched his personal catalogue of chicken breeds that Marnie kept. “She’s got some fine animals, but honestly no chicken’s gonna produce quality eggs like that unless they’re well cared for. Chickens are sensitive to that kind of thing, you know, they know stuff that we don’t pay attention to, on a gut level.”

Janeway didn’t answer. When he looked up she was staring. 

Oh, good, he’d been babbling about chickens like a lunatic again. “So good job, I guess,” he mumbled into his beer.

“Do you know about chickens?” Janeway asked, but she wasn’t making fun of him. He was pretty sure, anyway.

“Um. Yeah.” He loved chickens. He felt about chickens they way other people felt about kittens.

She smiled, and her eyes danced. “That’s kind of great.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, it is. I don’t know about anything.”

Shane gave her a skeptical look.

“Seriously, most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing,” she assured him. “I’m just glad the farm’s doing as well as it is.”

Shane didn’t know what to do with this admission. He shrugged and took another swig of beer. “At least you’re taking care of your chickens.”

She gave him another smile. Ought to be careful where she pointed that thing. “Do you want to keep this jar? I can’t sell it now that you’ve tasted it.”

“Uh, sure.” He let her screw the lid back on and hand it off to him. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” She said that like she meant it.

Shane waited for her to go, but she didn’t. She stayed beside him, observing the bar patrons. He found, to his surprise, that he didn’t want her to leave.

“What did you name your chickens?” he asked, after a moment or two.

For the first time since he’d met her, she looked a little embarrassed. “Dargoth and Moose.”

Shane frowned in puzzlement. “Dargoth and Moose.”

She shrugged sheepishly.

“Is Dargoth from something, or…”

“No, it just felt right.”

Shane could respect that. “I like it.”

And she smiled at him.


	6. Overreaching

It had been three minutes since Shane had been jolted back to consciousness by a watering can. It had been one minute since Marnie had stopped yelling at him long enough to get a word in edgewise. And it had been ten seconds since he’d scared his goddaughter.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

He was so drunk. He was on his feet, but barely, swaying. And damp.

“Shane?”

Janeway? Janeway wasn’t here. That was his brain playing a cruel joke on him, surely, because there was no way Janeway had seen that whole argument.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Shane.”

Dammit, she was here. And she was holding a watering can. He shook off her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Shane, listen to me.” Now she was the only thing in his field of vision. “When you sober up, you have to tell Jas that this isn’t her fault.”

“What are you talking about?” he muttered.

“Please, you have to tell her,” Janeway said urgently, putting her hand back on his shoulder. “Do you understand?”

Not really, what the hell— “Why would she think this is her fault?”

“Because she loves you, dumbass,” Janeway snapped.

He stopped. That didn’t...track. And it didn’t make sense thinking of Jas as someone who existed outside of Marnie and him. He didn’t even know that Janeway knew Jas.

“Shane, do you hear me?” Janeway demanded.

She wasn’t going to go away if he didn’t agree. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Her hand slid off his shoulder. “Look, I...I know I don’t know you that well…”

“You know me well enough to tell me my business with my goddaughter, apparently,” he spat.

She drew away from him a little. “Sorry for trying to look out for a child, I guess,” she said back, with a viciousness he didn’t expect from her. “But you can’t go on like this, man.”

“Trust me,” he sneered, “I know.”

She pressed her lips together. She had more to say, Shane was sure, but without another word she stormed out of his room, leaving Shane alone surrounded by empty bottles. 

*

Shane was at the kitchen table later that afternoon with a cup of coffee, already feeling the opening act of what promised to be a real masterpiece of a hangover, when Jas came home. He could tell it was her because Marnie’s footfalls were heavier, although unlike most days, today Jas wasn’t skipping.

He sighed. He had sobered up, but his mind wouldn’t let go of what Janeway had said. Worst of all, his eventual conclusion was that she was probably right.

“Hey Jas?” he called. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Her little footsteps carried her into the kitchen. She didn’t speak, and she kept a healthy distance from Shane, hands behind her back.

“Hi kiddo.” Shane was trying to gauge her mood, but she was keeping her face pretty stoney. Maybe she was still scared. “Um, I’m uh...I’m sorry about this morning.”

She didn’t say anything, only looked at the floor.

“Hey.” He slid off his chair and to his knees in front of her. “I’m sorry I’m like this, okay, I know it’s...it’s not easy for you or Marnie. It’s just...it’s not…” Janeway’s words came back to him. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.”

“Why are you like this, though?” Jas turned those big ol’ sad eyes of hers on him, which was extremely unfair.

“That’s a...pretty big question, um.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t really explain. But I care about you, and I know I’m supposed to take care of you, and I know I’m really awful at it. So I’m sorry.”

Her lip started to tremble. She flung her arms around his neck. “Don’t leave me, okay?”

Shane was frozen, startled, first by the shock of unexpected affection, and then by the thought that Jas’ parents were dead and this morning he’d threatened to follow them.

Careful not to squeeze her too hard, Shane returned the hug. “I’m sorry, Jas, I never want to scare you.”

“Then don’t leave.”

He couldn’t promise that. But he could keep from drinking around her, at least. There was almost nothing else in his life he could control, but he promised himself that she would not see him drunk again.

“You’re a really good kid,” Shane muttered into her shoulder, conscious of how small she was. “Do you know that? Probably the best one.”

“Am not,” she said, almost sadly.

Shane let go of her so he could look her in the eye. “No listen, I don’t know much about kids, but I’m pretty sure about that one.”

Jas wiped away a couple of tears. “I love you, Shane.”

Merciful Yoba, shooting him would be easier. He hesitated, and then reached out to brush away another tear with his thumb. “I love you too, Jas.”

She smiled damply, and gave him another quick squeeze, and trotted away. Skipping again. Good.

Shane hauled himself to his feet, wondering if he’d meant it. Because if he’d meant it, he would have promised to stay alive, wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t he?


	7. Aftermath

Shane woke up disoriented.

He was definitely not in his own bed. His bed, though crappy, had a nice little Shane-shaped divot that this mattress did not have. The blankets were scratchy too, and there was a lamp on in this room.

He sat up, trying to comprehend. “What the hell…”

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

Shane squinted at the big armchair beside the bed. “Harvey?” 

Harvey it was indeed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses, as if he’d just woken up too. “How are you feeling, Shane?”

The usual post-blackout hangover was either lighter than usual or hadn’t kicked in yet, but for some reason his throat was sore, and thus his voice was weirdly hoarse. “Am I in the clinic?”

“Yes. You were brought in last night for possible alcohol poisoning.” Harvey straightened his tie as he talked. “I pumped your stomach, and you’ve been resting for the last few hours. It’s about five in the morning now. Which brings me to the original question: how are you feeling?”

Ah, that explained the sore throat. “Why did you pump my stomach?”

Harvey’s eyebrows lifted. “You asked me to.” 

Oof. He must have been really out of it. “I’m...I’m feeling okay.”

Harvey nodded. “Good. Good... Shane, how much of last night do you remember?”

Shane ran his hand through his hair. He remembered getting off work and going straight to the Stardrop in a terrible mood… “Not much. How many did I have?”

“Janeway said she found you with three empty bottles of cheap vodka and quite a bit of beer.”

Janeway?

_“Why should I even go on?” He was on his knees, holding himself up with only a handful of her jacket, rain streaking down his face, demanding that the world give him answers through her mouth. “Tell me why I shouldn't roll off this cliff right now.”_

_She had her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him upright, and she was looking so intensely at him with those eyes of inky darkness, and the rain had plastered stray curls of hair to her face like overgrown vines…_

“Oh, damn it all,” he croaked, rubbing his face. What a pathetic piece of garbage. “Did she bring me here?”

“She did.” Harvey leaned forward, folding his hands deliberately on his lap. “She said you were expressing suicidal intentions.”

Yeah, what else was new? Shane pulled the covers off himself. Where were his shoes? “I’m a real fun guy when I’m drunk, doc, what can I say?” There were his shoes, by the foot of the bed.

“Shane, listen to me.”

Shane paused. Harvey was never a commanding sort of person, but something about the gentle firmness of his tone here was inarguable. Doctor voice, Shane supposed.

“I am very concerned about your mental health,” Harvey went on. “How often do you experience suicidal ideation?”

“Every damn day,” Shane spat. “The hell does it matter?”

“I don’t think I’m alone in believing your life matters,” Harvey responded, quietly.

“You wanna bet?”

Harvey sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is what I was afraid of.”

_“What about Jas?” Janeway asked him urgently, almost demanded. “Look I know it’s—it’s not a permanent reason, I know it’s not ideal, but please, think of Jas—she loves you, Shane.”_

_And another wave crashed into the cliffs below, and a wave of guilt came along with it. He was so selfish—_

“Is this the part of this little talk,” said Shane bitterly, “where you tell me I owe it to...to Jas and Marnie and the town or whatever? To keep living?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you a question,” Harvey said. Maddeningly level about all this. “Would you like things to be different?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Would you like your life to be different, Shane?”

Shane shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t even know what that looks like.”

“If there was a chance for things to get better for you, would you take it?” Harvey said.

“It wouldn’t matter,” Shane muttered, burying his head in his hands. “I’d just ruin it.”

“I’m not suggesting you try to do it alone.” Harvey pushed himself up from the armchair. There was a little side-table by the bed; he opened a drawer and pulled out a business card. “You are severely depressed, Shane. Your brain is actively trying to kill you. And you need help.”

Shane took the proffered card. “What’s this?”

“A colleague of mine in Zuzu City. A therapist.”

“A shrink?” scoffed Shane.

“Did I mention that you are severely depressed?” Harvey adjusted his glasses and looked Shane in the eye. “I don’t want to see you dead, Shane.”

“Tch.” Shane shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. “I’ll think about it.”

“Please do.” Harvey folded his hands back together. “I’m serious.”

Shane swung his legs down off the bed, shoving his feet into his shoes. “Sure.”

“Hang on, now, you’re not clear to leave,” Harvey said hastily.

Shane got to his feet and looked up at Harvey, who had maybe five inches on him, but also weighed roughly the same, friggin’ beanpole. “So you’re gonna stop me?”

“I—I can’t—physically stop you—” Harvey sputtered.

“Then I’m checking myself out.” Shane shoved past him. “Thanks for the Get Out Of Hangover Free Card, doc.”

“Shane—”

But he was already out the door.

The sun wasn’t up yet. It was cold and dark and quiet, great for solemn contemplation, which was the last thing Shane wanted.

Yoba, he was hungry. Empty stomach and all that.

He had almost finally done it. Almost. But then Janeway had shown up, and he’d begged her for a reason not to. He was too pathetic to even go through with the one thing he claimed to want every day. What a coward. Tiny, sniveling coward.

He should have gone through town toward home, but instead he found himself heading toward Janeway’s farm. 

Well. He probably owed her an apology. Onward.

The rain had left everything looking and smelling fresh and new, in abrupt contrast to Shane in the grubby clothes he’d slept in. The sky was starting to go a little gray with the dawn, and there were birds singing.

It was honestly kind of beautiful.

Janeway’s farm was pretty small-scale still, just a few rows of crops and a coop and...oh, a barn that was mid-construction. She must be thinking about buying a cow or something.

He stood in front of the door of her farmhouse, remembered it was like half past five and the sun wasn’t up yet, and took a seat on her porch steps.

Slowly, the sky changed color, lavender and pink and orange. Shane tried and failed to remember the last time he’d seen a sunrise.

He took the business card out of his pocket to look at it. Maybe he did want his life to be better. Yes, Harvey was a pushover and a nerd, and the thought of doing what Harvey told him grated on him a little...but Harvey had offered him a chance.

Shane tapped the card between his fingers and made a decision.

Behind him the door of the farmhouse opened. “Shane?”

He jumped to his feet and whirled to look at Janeway. She was pulling part of her hair back into a knot. Like the whole world this morning, she looked fresh and clean, and also like the whole world this morning, Shane felt like a slob in contrast.

“Hey,” he rasped, and then cleared his throat. “Mm, I’m—sorry about my voice, you know, the...the stomach pump.”

A weird look crossed her face. Her skin was sort of a light toasty brown, but he would swear the tips of her ears turned pink. “It’s um.” She swallowed. “It’s fine.”

Momentarily thrown off by whatever that was, Shane took a second to collect his thoughts. “Oh man...how do I say this…” He ran his hand through his hair and took a breath. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was...embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Janeway repeated softly. 

No, it was shameful, it was humiliating, it was yet another example of how Shane couldn’t even die correctly, but he didn’t have the words for all that now. And maybe it was just a hunch, but he had a feeling Janeway already knew.

“Look I’m…” She stepped down the stairs toward him, one step above him. “I’m just happy you’re still here, okay?”

Why did he suddenly feel like he’d been caught in a spotlight at a prison break? He took half a step back. “Wow, it was that serious, huh? I can hardly remember.”

She looked a little disappointed. “It was pretty serious, Shane.”

Ah. No more being glib, then, that wasn’t going to fly. He cleared his throat again. “Then uh...the good news is I decided I want to see a therapist. Harvey...gave me a number for a colleague and I’m going to call her up today…” He was rambling. “Anyway. I’m going to take things more seriously from now on.”

“Good, that’s...that’s really good.” Janeway looked like she meant it. “I’m glad.”

Shane kicked at the dirt a little. “I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. Not anymore.”

“You’re not a burden, Shane,” she said softly, earnestly. “You’re my friend.”

The sentence rolled around his head, refusing to be absorbed. Shane tried to make himself believe it. “Then...thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course.” And it was hesitant, this time, and had an undertone of worry, but she gave him a smile.

Shane nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. “You...probably have work to do, I’m gonna…go.”

“If you leave by the south entrance, you land right by Marnie’s,” Janeway said helpfully.

“Okay, thanks.” He couldn’t stop nodding, good gravy. “Bye.”

And leave he did, by the south entrance, and arrive he did at Marnie’s ranch, and he was lost in thought until the moment Marnie burst out of the front door. “Shane! Where have you been!”

Shane automatically started to ask her why she cared, but bit that back. “What?”

“I was so worried,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm. Damn, she was strong, he forgot she worked with animals all day. “I thought—” She paused to throw a glance over her shoulder. Oh, checking for Jas. “I thought something happened to you.”

“I’m fine, why?”

“Because you didn’t come home last night, Shane! Where were you?”

“With Harvey,” he muttered.

Marnie blanched. “Really?”

“At the—I went to the clinic,” he clarified.

Her expression went horrified. “Why, what happened?”

“I just...I just drank too much. I’m okay, I promise.”

Marnie sighed, and released his arm. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be a habit, Shane. My heart can’t take it.”

It occurred to Shane that maybe, just maybe, Harvey was right about Shane’s life mattering to people.

“Things are going to change,” he said. “I’m getting help. I’m going to...see someone. Like a therapist, in the city—”

“Really?” Marnie said in disbelief.

Well he didn’t appreciate that tone. “Yeah. Something’s got to change.”

Marnie took a sharp breath. “Hm. Good, then. If you ever need...I don’t know, if you need to borrow the truck, or something, you just ask.”

“Uh...okay?”

“Right.” Was she going to cry? “Would you like pancakes? I think I’ll make some pancakes.”

“Sure, thanks.”

“All right.” She paused to look at him, and then abruptly pulled him into her arms and squeezed.

Ohhhhh hell, she was gonna break his ribs.

She released him in a moment, looked as though she was going to say something else, thought better of it, and returned to the front door.

Shane took a long, slow breath before following her. The air was fresh and cool, the sun was finally all the way risen, and a brand new day had begun.


	8. Off the Stuff

Shane made his way from work to the Stardrop automatically, lost in thought, but not for the usual reasons.

Yesterday he’d called the therapist, who said she had a last minute cancellation and could see him the next day, and this morning he’d taken a bus to Zuzu City. The therapist’s name was Rose, and all she’d done today was ask questions.

“Now there really is no point in being gruff with me,” she’d said, after he made some defensive remark or another. “I realize you’re trying to protect yourself, but doing so here—with me, in a safe place—only prolongs this process. You’re safe here, Shane.”

Shane didn’t know how to deal with that.

There was a lot, actually, that he didn’t know how to deal with. None of his problems seemed any smaller, but he felt like maybe, just for today, he could handle them. Tomorrow would be another story, and he had a whole week before he properly got started with Rose. And then there was the question of alcohol—

“You gonna drug me up until I’m barely a person, then? Is that what’s going to happen?” he’d asked her at one point.

“I’m not comfortable recommending any medication if you drink as much as you say you do, not until you get your alcohol consumption under control,” she’d said mildly. “We’ll see how things shake out.”

And it was stupid, maybe, but he hadn’t really considered that he’d have to stop drinking. 

A world without alcohol was a terrifying world indeed. He could pretty much only stand living because he was drunk most of the time. He barely managed to stop himself from going into work drunk. Maybe he could wean himself off.

He shuffled into the saloon and took up his usual spot, thinking these thoughts.

“Hi, Shane,” Emily interrupted, setting a beer down on the bar for him.

“Hey, Emily. Thanks.” He took it and looked into it, musing. What was the last day he’d gone without a drink? He couldn’t remember. Sometime in high school probably.

He took a swig.

“Eugh.” This beer didn’t taste right. Shane smacked his lips. That was bizarre. He took another exploratory sip, but no, this was still off.

The door opened, letting in a gust of autumn air, and Janeway entered the saloon. “Hey Gus!”

“Janeway!” Gus called back. “What can I get for you?”

“Actually I have an albacore for you,” she said, pulling a brown paper package out of her backpack. 

Shane tore his gaze away from her and her flyaway curls to get back at the matter at hand. “Hey Emily?”

“Hmm?” She finished wiping down the counter before looking up.

“What’s wrong with the beer?”

Emily frowned a little. Her eyebrows were blue, just like the rest of her hair. How did she dye her eyebrows? “What do you mean, what’s wrong with the beer?”

“It tastes off.”

“Off like moldy, or—”

“Just off.”

She picked up his beer and took a look at it, and then gave it a sniff. “Seems fine. Hang on.” She took down two glasses and pulled just a little from the tap into both, and handed off one to Shane. “Try that.”

Shane took it and took a drink. “Ugh. No, still wrong.”

Emily drank hers thoughtfully. “It tastes fine to me, Shane, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Whatever, just...I need something to wash this taste out of my mouth.”

“Sparkling water?” she offered.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Not your usual fare,” said Janeway’s voice.

Shane looked up to find her taking a seat at the bar nearby him, rubbing her hands together for warmth. It must be pretty cold out. In response to her comment, Shane gave a half a shrug.

“You quitting? Cold turkey?” she asked.

“Wasn’t planning on it, it just doesn’t taste right today.”

“Oh, yep.” She nodded understandingly. “That happens after they pump your stomach sometimes. It’ll go away after a bit.”

Shane frowned. She said that like she knew what she was talking about. “Did you—”

“Here you go.” Emily arrived with an open can of sparkling water, rescuing him from what he realized would have been a real awkward question. 

He took a moment as Emily wandered away to take a drink, collect his thoughts, and rephrase. “You have some experience with this?” That was better, Janeway could give as much answer as she wanted for that question.

“You could say that,” she said wryly.

It was hard for Shane to be curious about anyone else most of the time, preoccupied as he was with navigating the river of suck, but today was already a little different, and he was still sober. She was deflecting the question. And for good reason, Shane would have done the same. Janeway was...Janeway was like him, then.

Explained why she never drank. He suddenly felt really bad about the night on the dock, pushing a beer into her hands.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” she said, not exactly looking at him.

“No promises I’ll answer.”

She nodded in concession of this point. “Do you get drunk every day?”

Oh boy, this was uncomfortable. “...Yeah?”

“Then if you don’t drink today, you’ll probably go into withdrawal tomorrow.” She said this lightly, as if it wasn’t a little terrifying, but she at least kept her voice down. “You might want to call in sick for a couple days.”

Huh. “Should I be worried?”

Janeway shrugged. “I mean, it’s absolutely miserable. Feels kind of like an anxiety attack to me. Some people get hallucinations? But if you treat it like a hangover, like keep hydrated and rest, you should be okay.”

“Great, thanks for that,” he scoffed.

She shrugged. “You’ve been warned. Oh, and be careful when you start drinking again. If you go through withdrawal once you’re more likely to go through it again, and it’s worse after the first time.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “ _When_ I start drinking again.”

“You said you weren’t planning on quitting entirely.”

“Not today anyway.” He stared at his water. “Although like...I think I’m going to have to eventually.”

“Yeah?”

He looked up to find her staring at him, searchingly. He could lose himself in that gaze, that was rude.

“I’m just thinking, maybe I should quit today, when it’s easy.”

“It’s not going to be easy to keep up,” she warned.

“It’ll be even harder to start.”

“Fair.”

Shane watched the bubbles jumping out past the pull tab of his water, nodding to himself. “Next couple of days, huh?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, it sucks.” She turned to fully face him, leaning in a little. “If you’re really gonna do this, you should throw out all your booze tonight. There’s nothing you’re gonna want more tomorrow than a drink.”

Oh that was a grave thought. He took a slow breath. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Maybe let Harvey know you’re doing this?” she suggested.

“Ugh.”

“Just in case. Withdrawal is no joke.”

He didn’t want to tell Harvey, or anybody. He should be able to do this himself, right? Asking for help was like cheating.

...That probably wasn’t true, but he still didn’t want to tell Harvey.

“I can come check on you in a couple days too,” she offered, in response to his silence. “I can’t come tomorrow, I have a bunch of work to do, but maybe the day after.”

Now that was something he’d like. “You don’t have to.”

Janeway shrugged. “It’s no trouble. I want you to get better, and if it’ll help—”

“Then sure,” he said, probably a little too hastily, but he was rewarded with her smile. “Thanks, Janeway. Seriously.”

“Best of luck with this.” She was dead serious, but her eyes still sparkled. She clapped him on the shoulder, and headed out of the saloon.

Shane took a deep breath and a drink of his sparkling water. Here went nothing.


	9. The Rosy Dawn

Shane hauled himself up sitting, slowly, feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. Merciful Yoba, he felt gross. And he wanted a drink.

He gave his face a good rub. At least he wasn’t shaking anymore.

Shane hadn’t ended up telling Harvey he was going cold turkey, but he had told Marnie, because he needed her help getting rid of all his beer. He had no idea where she’d put it, or if she’d just thrown it all away, but either way it was out of his reach and his sight. Then he’d asked Marnie to keep Jas clear of him, if possible, and prepared for withdrawal.

It was even worse than he’d thought it would be. Janeway had not been joking.

He eased himself out of bed and into the shower, and then into the kitchen for a glass of water. The whole world felt fragile. This uneasy peace couldn’t last long, could it? And this craving for a cold one would only get worse, he knew.

He should probably distract himself. Glass in hand, he headed outside the ranch.

What time was it? He had no idea, but judging by the sun it may have been midmorning. He wasn’t sure how many days he’d spent sweating and shaking in bed, only eating the occasional tea and toast that Marnie brought him because his stomach really couldn’t take anything else. He ought to thank Marnie. Maybe there was something he could do around the ranch for her for a bit.

Squinting in the sun, he realized that Jas was out here by the ranch fence, with her little friend Vincent. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from here, but it looked like they were arguing.

With nothing else to do, and feeling stable enough to interact with Jas without traumatizing her, he wandered over.

“If you weren’t so rough on stuff—” Jas was saying.

“I barely even poked it!” Vincent snapped back.

“You must’ve! It popped!”

“Did not!”

“Hey,” Shane interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

Jas threw out an accusatory finger. “Vincent popped the balloon we were playing with!”

“Why are you so mad?” Vincent demanded. “It was my balloon!”

“And now we don’t have anything to play with!” Jas wailed.

“Hmm.” Well, here was a problem he was pretty sure he could solve. He searched the ground, and yes, there were a few shreds of yellow latex lying in the grass. “First things first, let’s pick that up. If an animal got ahold of it and ate it, they would probably die.”

Vincent snatched up the scraps hastily. “But Mister Shane, what do we do now? I’m tired of jump rope.”

“Gimme a second, okay? I’ll be right back.” He went back inside to his room.

There, yep. Soccer ball. He hadn’t used it in...years now, it was just sitting collecting dust. Bet the kids would like it. He put down his water and gave it a squeeze to see how inflated it was—yeah, that’d do—and then put it under his arm to bring back outside.

“How about this?” he offered the ball the Jas.

“Really?” Jas said, putting out a hand to trace the seams.

“Yeah, you can borrow this anytime you want.”

Vincent whooped, and Jas took the ball and gingerly kicked it over to her friend.

“Hey Mister Shane, catch!” Vincent said before Shane walked away, and booted the ball full force at him.

Some very old instincts immediately kicked in—he stopped the ball with his chest, caught it on his foot before it hit the ground, and let it drop so he could pass it over to Jas.

“Woah!” Jas crowed.

“How’d you do that?” Vincent demanded.

If Shane was honest, he had no idea he still could. “Used to play soccer all the time,” he mumbled.

“Do it again,” Jas commanded him, and kicked the ball back.

Of course they ask him for a demonstration of fifteen-years-expired athletic ability when he was coming off withdrawal and his stomach was empty. “I don’t know, kids…”

“C’mon please?” Jas said.

“Pleeeeease?” Vincent chimed in.

Oh boy. 

But scooping the ball up on his toe was still pretty easy, and juggling it a little between his feet and knees wasn’t bad either. He paused for a second to catch his breath, and Jas and Vincent whooped and clapped.

Shane grinned. It was nice that they were so easily amused. “If you think that was good, watch this.”

Okay, could he still do this?...He scooped up the ball again. Foot, knee, foot, duck under real quick and onto his back—then let it roll off his shoulder to his foot, give it a good kick up and headbutt—

The ball went flying with more force than he meant, right at the face of—

“Ow!” Janeway had chosen that moment to come around the corner of the fence. 

“Janeway!” Shane buried his hand in his hair. “Oh my Yoba, I’m so sorry—”

“Miss Janeway!” Jas cried, and the two kids rushed forward to the woman that Shane had just hit in the face. “Are you okay?”

Janeway tested her nose. She looked fine, Shane thought hopefully. “I think so.”

Maybe if Shane was lucky, the earth would open up and swallow him whole. “Shi—shoot, Janeway, I didn’t see you—”

“It’s okay, seriously,” she said. “See, no blood, it’s fine.”

“No harm no foul,” chanted Vincent, as if it was something he’d heard a million times.

“Jas, would you bring this in to your Aunt Marnie, please?” Janeway pulled a jar of honey out of her backpack and handed it to Jas. “Might be the last honey of the season.”

“Your farm’s honey is so good,” Jas said, hugging the honey to her chest.

“What did you bring me?” Vincent demanded.

“Well, funny you should ask,” she said, and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a closed fist, and then opened her hand to reveal a snail.

“Awesome!” crowed Vincent, scooping up the snail. “Jas look!”

“No, eww!” Jas fled, honey still in her arms, and Vincent laughed and pursued her.

Janeway smiled after them, watching them run toward the lake, shrieking with laughter. “I love those kids.”

It was probably down to post-withdrawal fragility, but Shane’s insides felt all soft. “I am just...really sorry I hit you in the face.”

“It’s not your fault, I promise,” Janeway said, turning her sparkling eyes on him. “I’m never in the presence of a dodgeball, basketball, soccer ball, or gridball for long before it hits me in the face. Alex has gotten me twice.”

Shane was almost impressed. “That must be some kind of a talent.”

“It’s one of my two super powers.”

He suppressed a smile. “So you’re saying balls are just attracted to your face.”

“Watch yourself,” she said, shoving a finger at his chest, but she was still smiling, and when he chuckled so did she. That felt nice.

“Your face is okay, though?” Shane said. “It’s a good face, I’d hate to...to mess it up.” Dammit, why had he said that?

“My face is just peachy.” She went a little solemn. “How are you?”

Shane blew out a slow breath. “I’m uh...I could really use a beer. And I feel kind of like jelly. But I think I’m okay.”

“Good. I’m like...really proud of you for doing this, Shane. Seriously.” That eye contact of hers. She refused to look away. Shane noticed, for the first time, that she had freckles, lots of them, a little galaxy spread across her cheeks and nose. “Keep it up, okay? Let me know if I can help.”

“Okay,” Shane said distractedly, and once his brain caught up added, “Thank you. I will.”

“Good. Um.” She paused. Hesitated. “I uh...brought you something too.” She pulled another jar out of her backpack, the contents of which were red, and held it out to him. “I had this lying around. Speaking of jelly. It’s from my summer peppers.”

Holy hell. He took it. “Janeway, has anyone ever told you that you’re the best human who’s ever lived?”

“No, but isn’t it time they did?” she deadpanned.

Another laugh rumbled out of Shane’s rusty guts. 

She grinned. “Okay, I have work to do. See you later?”

“Sure.”

Janeway waved as she walked away. Shane watched her go, and managed to wait until she was out of sight before he had to lean on the fence and breathe.

How the hell had he not _noticed_? Was the background radiation of loneliness and heartache in his life so overwhelming that it took a friggin’ full detox to pay attention to his own brain? Like she was cute, that much was obvious, but was he really so dense that he hadn’t noticed...

...Shit.


	10. Helping Hand

Shane tried to stay away from the saloon for a few days, but sitting alone in his messy little room with no alcohol to ease the loneliness was oppressive, and he could feel himself sliding into a dark place, so he decided that it was better to risk the temptation and be with people.

And it was funny, but for all the time he spent at the saloon before, lately he’d been learning so much about his fellow patrons.

For example, Willy and Clint always sat together. They were both men of few words, so Shane supposed that made sense; it was actually kind of interesting to watch their sparse conversation. But when Willy wasn’t here, Clint spent the whole evening sneaking glances at Emily, who seemed completely oblivious. In fact, Emily talked more to him. Yoba knew why.

“How are you today, Shane?” she asked when she gave him his sparkling water. He’d really started to get a taste for this stuff. “Any new stories from the belly of evil?”

“Nothing to report from Joja,” Shane muttered. “Every day there’s the same anyway.”

Emily must have picked up that this was not a good day, because after that she left him alone. Honestly, most of his days were not good days, but lately he’d managed to have a couple of normal conversations at least. Rose had been impressed.

“Controlling your life is very important to you,” she’d said. “I’m not surprised that you’re taking such ownership of your recovery. But be careful. Quitting a coping mechanism without something to replace it can be risky.”

She’d been talking about how he quit drinking. He hadn’t slipped up yet, but he had wanted to, Yoba, he wanted to. And yes, he’d managed to have a couple of days that, even if they weren’t necessarily good, were a temporary reprieve from the river of suck, but the bad days were so much worse without the sweet oblivion of a handful of beers.

Today was one such day. Today it was hard to make himself believe this was worth it. Today not even the bright saloon full of people was any solace. Today he was thinking about the cliff.

And it scared the hell out of him. This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to be fixing himself! Why did he still want to die?

He sat very still. If he moved, there was a chance he would leave. If he left, there was a chance he would walk off a ledge into the cold ocean.

He was brooding thusly when Janeway came in, sweeping up to the bar. “Gus, I am starving,” she declared. “I need pasta stat.”

“Coming right up!”

Ohh, Janeway. Here was something to focus on other than his all-too-timely demise. Winter had finally arrived in the valley and her nose and cheeks were a little bit pink from the cold, a few stray curls springing loose from her hat and scarf. She was so pretty.

This whole feelings thing felt new and bright and caustic, dangerous to touch but beautiful to behold. It had been a long time, so maybe it was because he was out of practice—or maybe it was because this time he was sober—but the feelings he had for her seemed stronger, somehow.

It was dangerous, of course. There was no way he wouldn’t find a way to ruin this eventually. But he could look.

In a minute she caught him looking and waved, smiling that smile of hers. Shane felt himself smiling back, even though he really didn’t feel like it. She didn’t come over, though. She must be in a hurry.

For a minute he considered going over there and telling her that he was having a terrible day, the kind of day that was driving him to the cliff, and that he didn’t know what to do.

“No one can fight these kinds of battles alone,” Rose had said. “Tell me about your support system.”

Shane had said Marnie and Jas immediately, although Rose had cautioned him about confiding in Jas. He wouldn’t have done that anyway, probably, she’d already been through enough, but it was good to remember.

“There’s my friend Janeway, but…”

“But?”

“I...she’s...I’ve kinda got a crush on her.”

“You may continue to treat her as a friend, crush or no crush. Would she be willing to help you, if you asked?”

Of course she would. Immediately, and with whatever he needed, and he loved her for it. But he couldn’t just keep going to her every time he had a crisis, could he? That wasn’t fair to her, she wasn’t his mom. Especially since he wasn’t in any kind of position to support her back.

“Is that the only reason?” Rose had asked.

No. Not really.

Gus handed Janeway a plate of spaghetti, and she thanked him and tucked in. It was kind of weird to stare at someone eating, so Shane looked away.

He didn’t know why she helped him. He had no idea. He was so pathetic, like...why would she bother? Did she feel sorry for him? Or worse, maybe next time he asked for help was the moment she’d finally get tired of him.

If either option were true, it might kill him.

“Then who?” Rose had asked. “If you need help in a crisis, who will you go to?”

“Is this just your way of reminding me I have no friends?” he’d demanded.

“This is my way of asking you to make an action plan, should the worst happen. And you did just tell me you have at least one friend.”

So he had made a friggin’ action plan, hoping he would never need it, because he should be past that now, right?

And now he needed it. And he hated his stupid action plan so much.

“Thanks, Gus.” Janeway shot Shane one last smile before setting down her money and leaving the saloon.

Shane took a deep breath. Okay. “Hey Emily, I’m gonna settle my tab.”

“Little early for you, huh?” she said, to which Shane could only respond with a shrug.

Account settled, he left the Stardrop, sneakers crunching in the new snow. He should probably get some boots, he thought absently. Arriving at the corner of the saloon, he forced himself to turn right instead of left, to cross the square, and to knock on the last door he wanted to knock on.

He waited long enough to have half a dozen second thoughts and nearly ran for it before Harvey opened the door.

“Shane?” Harvey looked concerned. He was wearing pajamas, like proper pajamas. And slippers. “What’s wrong?”

“Um.” Shane didn’t want to say what he knew he needed to say. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harvey said, waving a hand. “Are you all right? Is someone hurt?”

“Not—not yet.” Shane raked his hand through his hair. “I um...I need help, Harvey.”

“What kind of help? Have you been drinking, or—”

“No, but I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about walking off a cliff.”

Harvey’s face went instantly from worried to determined. “Come inside. Would you like some tea?”


	11. Uphill

Gradually, slowly, things got better.

*

“Marnie, I got a question for you.”

Marnie did not expect Shane to speak to her first thing in the morning, as he was not a morning person, and usually didn’t. She gave her nephew a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

Shane was staring deeply into his cup of coffee, as if for signs and portents. “You remember that black variant rooster that hatched last month?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can I buy him from you? And a couple of hens? And rent some space in your coop?”

Well, Marnie wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from this conversation, but it sure wasn’t this. “What for?”

Shane took a long drink of his coffee before answering. “I just need to build something for once, instead of leeching off other people.”

“And you’re going to do that with chickens?”

“That’s the idea,” Shane said, shrugging.

Marnie examined her nephew carefully. As far as she knew, he had stopped drinking, and therapy seemed to be working, albeit slowly. He had never had an unkind word for Jas, but now he could spare a conversation for her, too. She had taken him in years ago less because she liked him and more because he had legal responsibility for a child he had no ability to properly care for. And the longer she knew him, the angrier she got at her little brother for raising Shane to be so profoundly broken.

“Why do you want the black rooster?” Marnie ended up asking.

“Because when he was a chick he was almost blue, and I had a thought about the breeding line, if I brought out the right genes, you know…” He noticed her staring and trailed off. “It was just a thought.”

This moment was important, Marnie realized. Come off too dismissive and Shane might be discouraged. He was so easily discouraged.

“I think it’s a lovely idea,” she said firmly. “I’ll sell you the rooster. Which hens do you want?”

*

Harvey was looking down at his clipboard when he left the exam room. “Maru, when do we have Haley scheduled for today? I can’t remember.”

“Eleven,” Maru answered, “but um…someone else is here to see you.”

Harvey looked up. Shane was standing in his lobby with a cardboard box under his arm.

“Oh, hello,” said Harvey, surprised to see Shane in the daylight. Three times now, Shane had come to ask him for help when he was feeling suicidal, though he still refused to commit to a regular checkup.

“Hi.” Shane shifted the box out from under his arm and onto the counter. “This is for you. To say thank you.”

Harvey frowned, puzzled. “What for?”

“The last couple of times you’ve…” he glanced over at Maru— “given me medical advice...you haven’t charged me. So I figure we’re either friends, or I owe you. Or both.” He knocked on the box. “Either way.”

“Oh, well...thank you.” Harvey moved the box behind the counter to Maru’s desk. It was heavy. “Say, while you’re here, we can finally schedule you for a checkup.”

Shane threw him a finger gun. “Nice try. Later.” And he left.

Maru waited until the door shut behind him to say, “What was that about?”

“I can’t say,” Harvey said automatically, folding the box’s flaps open. There were nine jars in here, neatly filling the space; he pulled one out to examine it.

It was full of pickles. Nine jars of delicious pickles.

“Well, look at that,” Harvey murmured. How did Shane know?

“So like, are you his friend or does he owe you?” Maru asked.

“I think he was right, I think it was both,” Harvey said cheerfully, replacing the jar and hauling the box off the desk. Maybe there was hope for Shane yet. “I think he’s getting better, Maru.”

Maru pulled a face. “Be hard for him to get worse.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“That’s my opinion as a girl who tries to stay away from sketchy guys,” she said, rearranging the notes on her desk as she spoke.

Ah, yes, that was only fair.

“You really think he’s becoming less of an asshole?” she asked.

“Slowly but surely.” Harvey shifted the box to his hip so he could go back to looking at his clipboard. “He’s at least taking steps in the right direction. It’s like something he said, actually. Even small stones cause ripples.”

Maru smiled. “Thanks, grandpa.”

“Ouch,” Harvey commented. “Do you want one of these?”

“I don’t really like pickles, but thanks.”

Harvey felt almost gleeful. “I do.”

*

Jas dragged Shane out of the house. “C’mon!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he griped, stumbling along behind her with his soccer ball, but she knew he was goofing. He had promised to play with her, and Shane kept his promises. He wasn’t always good at making promises, but he always kept them.

“We’re gonna play soccer-catch,” Jas informed him, as they made their way to the open space by the lake. She’d decided to play soccer-catch because she knew Shane liked it, and she wanted him to play for as long as possible. He seemed like he felt better lately, and who knew how long that would last? Better take advantage while she could. “I’m getting better at kicking now.”

“I bet you are,” Shane said, and she could hear his smile. 

“My new shoes are magic,” she explained. “They help.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” Jas looked over her shoulder to check if Shane was making fun of her, but instead caught sight of a figure coming up the path toward the lake, and toward them. “Ms. Janeway! Hi!”

Ms. Janeway waved as she approached the two of them. “Hello, Jas! Hi, Shane.”

“Hey,” Shane said, and he had a strange sort of hitch in his voice. 

Jas glanced up at him, but he looked okay. Weird. “Ms. Janeway, look at my new shoes!”

“Wow, those are extremely pink,” Ms. Janeway said, examining the shoes carefully. “I really like them.”

“Thank you,” Jas said proudly. “Shane got them for me.”

“Did he?” Ms. Janeway smiled at Shane. “That’s awfully nice of him.”

“Well her old ones were all worn out, and she really wanted these,” Shane explained. He didn’t have to explain, Jas thought, he could have just accepted that Ms. Janeway thought he was nice. She wondered why he did that. Then again, Shane did a lot of things she didn’t understand.

“Ms. Janeway, will you play with us?” Jas asked, grabbing her hand. “Please?”

“Hmm.” Ms. Janeway checked her watch, which luckily was on the hand that Jas wasn’t holding. “Yeah, I’ve got time to play.”

“Yay!”

“If you’re too busy—” Shane began.

“I’m not that busy,” Janeway assured him. “This is important.”

Jas looked up just in time to see Shane give Janeway his soft eyes.

Ohh, she knew what that meant. He loved her.

“Shane, you stand here,” Jas told him, and then led Ms. Janeway off to one side. Shane was not her dad. He wasn’t even exactly her replacement dad, he was just Shane. But Jas loved him, and she loved Ms. Janeway too, and if they got married, then Ms. Janeway could be her not-quite-replacement mom. And that would be _good_.

“Ms. Janeway, you stand here,” Jas instructed her, letting go of her hand.

“Okay,” Ms. Janeway said, planting her feet. “What’s the game?”

“We’re just passing the ball around,” Shane said, dropping the soccer ball and catching it on his toes. Jas hurried backward to complete the triangle.

“I warn you, I am very bad at all sports,” Janeway said.

“You can just try your best, like me!” Jas said.

“That’s a good attitude,” Shane said, passing the ball to Jas, which she fielded. “And hey, I promise not to hit you in the face again.”

“That will make things easier,” Janeway said, winking at Jas.

Jas giggled. “Shane, watch this kick!” And she passed the ball to Janeway.


	12. Interlude: Winter Star

Janeway sat and watched the Winter Star festivities, sitting next to her secret friend’s gift with a warm feeling in her gut that had nothing to do with the mug in her hand, which was wassail made with juice instead of wine, like for the kids. No, she was feeling warm and safe from the presence of her friends, from simply existing in a Community with People. There was something about this place...it wasn’t idyllic in the sense that everything was perfect here, but it was...home. That’s what it was. It wasn’t her grandfather’s farm anymore, it was her farm, and her town, and her neighbors and friends.

Before she’d moved to the valley, there was a sort of low-level restlessness that constantly lived in the back of her brain, methodically and cruelly picking at her every day. But today she didn’t feel that. Only contentment.

“Hello, Janeway.” Harvey appeared at her elbow, taking the seat next to her, on the opposite side as the gift she’d brought.

“Hi Harvey.” She shot him a smile. “How’s your Winter Star?”

“I’m just grateful there haven’t been any medical emergencies this year,” Harvey said, in that earnest way he had.

“I’ll drink to that.” Janeway lifted her mug. “Has your secret friend revealed themself?”

“Not yet. Yours?”

Janeway laid a hand on her heart. “Jas got me a seashell. One of those rainbow shells.”

“Oh that is very sweet,” Harvey said.

“She’s such a good kid.” Janeway scanned the crowd to find her; there she was, telling something rapid-fire to Shane. Shane, for his part, was listening intently, smiling a little.

There was a twinge in Janeway’s chest as she watched them. She ignored it.

“Janeway, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” There was no need for any of that feelings nonsense, not now. This was not the time to go around doing impulsive things just because sometimes Shane’s pretty green eyes made her heart go all a-flutter.

“I know you and Shane are good friends—”

Janeway’s head snapped to look at him. Had he read her mind??

“Do you know if he’s actually going to therapy?” Harvey asked.

Oh, phew. Thank Yoba. “Uh, yes. Yes he is. You didn’t know? He says you’ve been helping him out occasionally.”

“We’ve had a few conversations, but most of them tend to be rather antagonistic.” 

“He is getting better about that, though,” Janeway said. Just jumping right to his defense, huh? That wasn’t projecting at all.

“He is,” Harvey conceded. “I just wanted to make sure I had the correct information.”

“Oh. Yeah, he’s…” she trailed off because at that moment, Shane laughed, and she couldn’t speak. “...He’s doing pretty well, I think.”

She watched him break off his conversation with Jas to grab a box and bring it to where Clint was sitting.

“Oh, Clint must be his secret friend,” Harvey commented.

Clint, with his characteristic sad-sackishness, unwrapped the present with reluctance. It was a fan, a room fan, one of the types that was tall and thin and had an air filter.

“Why a fan?” Harvey puzzled.

“He’s always complaining about how hot it is in the forge,” Janeway said. Shane has asked her about this gift, and it struck her as a pretty good idea.

Clint frowned and asked Shane something.

“Oh, he doesn’t get it,” Janeway murmured. That was a risk she’d considered.

Shane said a few words, gesticulating. Clint started to nod, and then, a rare sight: he smiled.

“Now he does!” Janeway said, grinning.

“Well done, Shane,” Harvey said decisively.

Was it weird to be proud of him? Janeway was so proud of him.

“Janeway, are you—”

“Hmm?” Focus up, Janeway. 

Harvey paused. “Are you and Shane...an item, or—”

“No!” Janeway scoffed. “Of course not.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You’re not.”

Frikkin’ hell, she could feel herself blushing. “No. Why?”

“You two seem very close, is all.” Harvey folded his hands in his lap. “He mentions you more than he mentions anyone else, when we talk.”

“What does he say about me?” Janeway asked automatically, and then winced at herself. Idiot.

Harvey gave her an incredulous look, for just long enough to let her know that he had her number. “All good things, don’t worry. It just begs the question, to me: why, exactly, aren’t you an item?”

Ah, the return of the blush. She closed her eyes, in case that helped the embarrassment. It did not. “People in recovery aren’t supposed to date each other, Harvey, you know that.”

He didn’t answer. 

Janeway opened her eyes; he looked deep in thought. “Oh my Yoba, please say something.”

“You’re right,” he said thoughtfully, staring at the ground.

Janeway’s heart sank.

“So I suppose the better question is, how long will you consider yourself in recovery, rather than recovered?”

Janeway threw out her hands helplessly. “AA would tell you it’s when you start to sponsor people.”

“And what would you say?”

“Damned if I know.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t want to slip again.”

“Very understandable.”

Janeway sighed, resting her head in her hands. “I should probably be thinking about that, huh? What an end looks like for me.”

“That would be wise.”

“Harvey, why are you on the clock during Winter Star anyway?” She shot him a scowl. “You should be relaxing.”

“I never really consider myself off the clock,” Harvey said, and then added, more sheepishly, “and I am not terribly good at relaxing.”

Janeway could’ve called that little factoid from a mile off. “I think I’m about to enable you there.”

“Pardon?”

She picked up the gift sitting beside her and handed it to him. “I’m your secret friend. Happy Winter Star.”

He brightened and took the package, thanking her as he unwrapped it. The paper fell away to reveal a bag of coffee.

“That’s the good stuff, too,” Janeway said. “None of that overroasted robusta crap.”

Harvey held up the bag to his face to smell it. “Ohh,” he sighed. “Thank you, Janeway.”

She smiled, and took another drink of her wassail, and tried not to look at Shane. And failed.


	13. Support System

Shane rubbed his face as he left the stupid Joja Mart and his stupid job, three hours late today, because corporate didn’t particularly care that Shane was already tired. He hated this job.

His sneakers crunched in the snow as he crossed the bridge toward Pierre’s—he really should get some boots—and his brain began rolling out the same old argument that it did every day, like a dusty rug. This wouldn’t have happened if he’d just gone to college or something. Of course if he’d gone to college, it would be because his father hadn’t kicked him out of the house when he was seventeen, which meant he wouldn’t have gotten to know Jas’ parents, which means he wouldn’t have had Jas or Marnie, but he might have had...maybe a better life? Was that even possible for him? Probably not. He didn’t deserve that anyway, he deserved this dead-end job as a stock boy in a store that no one even wanted here, a leech on Pelican Town’s resources and charm. Just like him.

Shane stopped, shutting his eyes, taking a deep breath. Rose had _literally_ just lectured him on negative self talk. He opened his eyes again, watching the steam of his breath billow into the night air.

At this point being...being _kind_ to himself, like Rose suggested, seemed unrealistic, and he’d told her so. So settle for shutting down the argument, she told him. Figure out what’s true, and what’s just his brain trying to kill him.

All right so...he wasn’t quite as bad as a corporate giant that devoured everything in its path. At least he wasn’t malicious about it.

That’s a start, he decided, and kept walking. At least he was headed to a warm saloon where there were people to talk to.

The saloon was in sight, but before he got there the door opened, and Janeway appeared in the doorway outlined in light. She trotted down the steps, looking a little unsteady.

“Janeway?” he said.

Her head snapped up to look at him, and a smile spread across her face. “Shaaaane.”

“Hey.” He was happy to see her—he was always happy to see her—but today she looked flush, and he had a feeling it wasn’t the cold. “Are you all right?”

“Mhmm!” She wandered up to him, and then tripped—

He caught her just in time, by the forearms, and pulled her to her feet. “Careful there.”

She looked up at him with that smile, those twinkling eyes. Oh, no, he could smell it on her. “That was real smooth there, Shane.”

He’d thought she was sober. This was bad; if she’d been drinking this whole time, then she was in way worse shape than anyone knew, and if she hadn’t, then this was a major backslide. “How many have you had?”

She leaned in close, close enough that he could feel her breath. “I don’t remember.”

Uh oh. Whatever was about to happen, Shane decided, he was going to make sure the farmer got home safe. “You’re not usually much of a drinker.”

“Nope, but Elliot…” She pulled away from him and started walking across the square, toward the graveyard. “Elliot bought me a glass of wine, and he wouldn’t listen when I said no.” She waved a hand in the air. “You know. Because he’s Elliot.” 

Shane shoved his hands in his pockets, missing the fleeting feeling of her in his arms, and kept pace with her. “Yeah, he does like to talk more than listen.”

“Exactly. But then the whole saloon felt so convivial. So I had a few more.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little. “You can’t be that drunk if you’re whipping out words like ‘convivial.’”

Janeway stopped dead and stuck a finger into the air. “Vocabulary is not a function of intelligence!” She shoved the finger into his chest. “Star Wars.”

“I don’t think that’s from Star Wars,” Shane said, trying not to laugh.

“No it is,” she insisted.

“Janeway, are you going to walk home?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me walk with you.”

Janeway smiled again. “I’d be honored.” She rotated on her heel. “Let’s go!”

“Wrong way,” he said, gently turning her by the shoulders.

“Yep!” She marched forward, Shane at her side. “Thank you, Shane. That’s sweet.”

“Can’t have you getting hurt,” he said, and then felt awkward having said it. “Who am I gonna get peppers from come summer?”

“Oh, I see what this friendship is founded on.” She gave him a narrow-eyed look, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Yoba, but she was pretty.

She started humming something as they walked along, and then singing. She had a nice voice, if a little off-key. “Ain’t nobody here but us chickens, ain’t nobody here at all…” She stopped. “Do you know that song?”

“No.”

“You should, it’s Louis Jordan. It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Shane chuckled.

Janeway threw out an arm and sang, “Tomorrow! Is a busy day! We got things to do! We got eggs to lay!”

“Is this cuz I like chickens? Is that why this is happening?” Shane laughed.

“We’ve got ground to dig and worms to scratch! Takes a lot of sittin’ gettin’ chicks to hatch!” And then she tripped. “Oop—”

“Careful.” Shane caught her again, this time with an arm around her waist, which meant he had to pull her close in order to pull her up. She rested her hands on his chest to steady herself, breathing hard.

Was it possible for a human being to combust?

“You smell nice,” she mumbled.

Shane peeled his arm off of her waist. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Let’s uh...keep…going?”

She took a deep breath and started walking again. “Oh Yoba...I’m really drunk Shane.”

“Yep.” Not near blackout, maybe, but definitely a few deep.

“I’m so _stupid_ ,” she groaned. “I could have said no.”

Shane frowned. “You’re not stupid.”

“Why didn’t I say no?” Janeway looked genuinely distraught. “I messed up so bad.”

“Why _didn’t_ you say no?” he asked, quietly.

“Mmm. Because I wanted a drink.” She kicked at the dirt. “I always want a drink.”

Okay, then it sounded like this was a slip-up, not a bigger problem. Still bad, but not as bad as it could be. There were...there were a lot of complicated feelings happening in Shane’s guts right now, but foremost was embarrassment. Of all the people to be here now with her, understanding what this moment was to her, why him?

He was hyper-aware of her next to him, the occasional cloud of her breath, their footsteps in the snow, the roiling discomfort in his stomach.

Janeway threw a dramatic arm in front of him as they approached the gate of her farm. “I have a dog. Just so you know. I don’t know what he’s like with other people.”

“I don’t mind dogs,” Shane assured her.

“Okay.” She fumbled with the gate latch before it swung open, seemingly more by accident than any real effort on her part; and she paused, took a step, and stumbled again, letting Shane catch her by the arm. “Dammit.”

“Do you want help inside?” Shane asked. The farmhouse was in sight.

“Yes.” She snaked her hand around his shoulders, and he ducked down so she could lean on him. Thus entangled, they made their way to the stairs of the farmhouse. “You need boots, your shoes are gonna be soaked.”

“Spring’s just around the corner,” he mumbled, taking a break from being conscious of the closeness of her to notice for the first time that his socks were, in fact, wet. “Watch the steps.”

Janeway opened the door. “Goblin?”

The bark that greeted them was significantly deeper than Shane anticipated. He looked up to find himself nearly eye-level with a dog’s nose.

“Oh,” he managed.

“Who’s a good boy?” Janeway said, and Goblin, who turned out to be a massive ugly German shepherd mix, left off sniffing him to greet Janeway. “Be nice to Shane, okay?”

Shane made himself focus. Just kind of...shut off his brain for a minute, don’t think too hard about where he was and who he was with and the massive dog. “Where do you want to be?”

“Bedroom’s through there,” she said, tilting her head, because the hand that was not on his shoulder was scratching Goblin’s head.

“Okay.” He helped her through the door, to the big bed in the corner. The room was swathed in shadow, but he got the vague impression of knick knacks and bookshelves, and a big old painting on the wall. He eased her onto the comforter. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” She leaned down and started fumbling with the laces of her boots.

“Here, let me help.” He took a knee and untied her shoes. Goblin did his best to investigate and get in the way.

“Nobody’s been in my house yet,” Janeway commented.

“Yeah?” Shane said, sliding off her boot. This sock had a hole in it, on her toe.

“I’m glad the first one’s you.”

“Really?” He set the boot off to one side and took hold of the other. “Why’s that?”

“Hey.” She waited ‘til he’d looked up to lean toward him, eyes and voice suddenly soft. “You’re not going to take advantage of me in this compromised state, are you?”

Shane’s brain short-circuited. He couldn’t do anything else but freeze. He was trapped, right here, forever, kneeling at her feet. He managed to clear his throat. “What?”

“Cuz, you know—” she reached out and dragged her fingers through the hair along the nape of his neck— “that would be just awful.”

“Woah! Okay!” He popped back to his feet, hands thrown out in front of him, his spine actively melting into jelly. “Let’s just...you don’t want to do something you’ll regret, right?”

“Aww, boo.” Janeway crossed her arms and kicked off her other boot.

Shane attempted to get ahold of himself. “Uh-um...um. Janeway—”

And then she gasped abruptly. “The holly!”

“What holly?” This was easily the most confusing two minutes of his life—

“I gotta put the holly on the porch into the bin.” She stood up unsteadily.

“No, hang on, you’re in your sock feet and it’s cold out.” His hands went up again, to rebuff her. “Let me do it.”

She looked dubious, but then her gaze dropped to her bootless feet. “Okay. Neatly though.”

“I promise,” he said.

She plopped down onto the bed again with a sigh, and Shane hurried out the door, so he could shut it behind him and lean against it while he waited for his insides to stop being hot soup.

Sweet mercy, did she have any idea what she did to him? It wasn’t fair, especially since…

Since he did want her, so bad, but she’d never do this if she was sober. Why would she? He was...he was nothing. Drunk asshole with a dead-end job.

He found the stack of holly branches on the porch and carefully placed it in the bin, as promised. Negative self talk. That’s what that was. He sighed, and closed the lid. “Hell, can you blame me, Rose?”

Oh, she’d be very annoyed if she heard that.

All right, all right. He brushed the sawdust off hands. Drunk asshole with a dead-end job...he was no longer, technically, a drunk. That was something.

Shane went back into the house. “Janeway? I put the—”

But he found her curled up on top of her covers, fast asleep. And whatever guts Shane still had intact melted right away. 

Goblin had stationed himself by the side of her bed, and was eyeballing him. Right. Okay. Shane crossed around to the other side, folded her comforter over her, and took one last look.

Goblin loosed a warning growl.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” And he did.


	14. Freshly Baked Humble Pie

“Shane!”

Shane jolted awake ready to punch—but it was just Jas, whose eyes were wide and staring at his raised fist. He hastily dropped it. “Jas, sweetie, you can’t be doing that.”

“Sorry,” she squeaked, “but Shane! They’re hatching!”

“They are?”

“Yes! Yes! Right now!”

He snatched up his hoodie and leapt out of bed after his goddaughter to the barn.

He’d cordoned off a little mini-coop in Marnie’s barn for his rooster and his two hens. He loved all three of them, but the brood mother was his favorite by far. Charlie, he’d called her, and she’d laid the first eggs of his flock. She was sitting on a perch by the incubator, watching the eggs with one eye.

“Here, look.” Jas pulled him over to the incubator.

One of the eggs was nearly in half already, and another wobbled. Shane held his breath. This was it, the test of his knowledge, the proof of whatever skill he thought he had.

Slowly, in starts, the little chick emerged from its shell, slick and trembling and disheveled...and _blue._

Jas grabbed his arm, little fingers digging into the loose fabric of his hoodie. “Shane! It worked!”

“Holy shit,” Shane said, finally breathing. “It worked…”

He watched the little chick find its footing, shuffling in the hay, peeping softly. It was beautiful, and perfect, and he’d been right, for once in his miserable life he’d been _right._

“Shane? Are you crying?”

Hell, he was crying, wasn’t he? Hastily he brushed at his eyes. “I um…I’m just really happy.”

Jas looked back at the little blue chick. “Mama used to do that when she saw a commercial about a dog or a soldier coming home.”

Oh, damn. Jas didn’t talk about her parents. Shane examined his goddaughter cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Look look look!” She pointed at the egg that had been wobbling this whole time; a fleck of shell had fallen out.

They watched in reverent silence as the second chick broke out of its calcium prison, much faster than its sibling. Also blue. Charlie hopped down onto the incubator to investigate her newborns, clucking. Gawky, silly, pretty birds. Shane sighed. “They’re just perfect.”

“I love them,” Jas declared.

He couldn’t help but smile at that. “What do you think we should name them?”

“Hmm.” Jas screwed up her face in concentration. “Blueberry and...Princess.”

Shane chuckled. “I don’t know, Blueberry seems kind of obvious. But I like Princess.”

“Princess,” Jas repeated. “And Cupcake?”

“Sure, perfect.” Shane gave her shoulder a squeeze. She beamed at him.

The door to the barn opened. Shane didn’t look up until he was halfway through saying, “Marnie, come look at this—”

But it was definitely Janeway at the door, the woman Shane had walked home drunk last night. And he was definitely wearing basketball shorts and an unzipped hoodie with no shirt. “Um—” He hastily zipped his hoodie up over his beer belly. Yoba, what a slob. “Hi. Sorry. I just got up.”

Janeway, for her part, had her arms crossed over her stomach, looking supremely uncomfortable. Great, way to go, Shane. “Hi. Uh...Marnie said you were in here.”

“Yeah, we were just, uh…” He waved a vague hand at the incubator. “Chickens.”

“Did you come to see the new chicks, Ms. Janeway?” Jas asked, rescuing them both.

Janeway smiled a little. “No, sorry, I came to um...to talk to Shane about yesterday.” Her gaze shifted to him, and she bit her lip.

Shane would talk to her about anything, anytime, but he could tell this was hell for her, and he probably wasn’t making things any easier by virtue of him being...well, him. “Yeah, of course. Um.” He turned back to the incubator and scooped up one of the chicks. “Jas, do you want to show Cupcake to Marnie?”

“That’s Princess,” she said mischievously, accepting the chick carefully in cupped hands.

“Hey, are you making fun of me?” he said with mock sincerity.

Jas giggled, and scampered away, leaving Shane and Janeway alone.

Janeway didn’t say anything for a long moment. Shane put his hands in his hoodie pockets. “So. Um.”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sorry about yesterday. And thank you. For um. For getting me home.”

“Sure.” She had made a pass at him, and he didn’t know what to do with that information. It was the only thing he could think about right now. “Um. Don’t envy you the hangover.”

“Uh, actually, you remember that I have two superpowers?” Her hands fell from around her stomach to fold in front of her. “The other one is that I don’t really get hangovers.”

“Wow.” Shane was a little bit impressed. “That must be nice.”

“Yeah, it’s uh...it’s a really bad superpower to have. When you’re an alcoholic.” She pressed her lips together, as if to keep any more words from slipping out.

Shane swallowed. It felt like he’d been entrusted with a secret. And he was about to try for another one; he prepared to ask maybe the scariest question he could think of. “Do you...remember everything you said?”

She gave him a look that he didn’t quite understand. “Not everything. I didn’t do anything too ridiculous, did I?”

This was it. This was the moment. He could figure out whether Janeway had just been drunk and horny, or there was something to her feelings that she hadn’t said. 

He looked her dead and the eye. And chickened out. “Nah. You recommended a pretty good song, though.”

She smiled a little. “I do remember that.”

“I looked it up after I dropped you off,” he offered. “It’s catchy.”

Janeway nodded, and then her smile collapsed into a sob.

“Ohh…” Yoba dammit, he never knew what to do around crying people—he stepped forward, extending a hand to...pat her on the back maybe? And decided against it. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled and swallowed back another sob. “I’m just...mad at myself. This shouldn’t have happened. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Shane said.

“That’s really sweet, but I should be able to…” Janeway trailed off, furiously wiping her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t come here to cry in your chicken coop.”

“Hey.”

Shane said it before he knew what he was going to say after, and then she looked at him, and he lost the ability to speak at all for a second. He cleared his throat and tried again. Something to make her feel better, right. “Come here for a sec.”

She followed him over to the incubator, and then did a straight-up cartoon double-take. “That baby is blue.”

“Yeah.” Ha, baby. Shane reached out to scratch Charlie’s head, absentmindedly. “This is Cupcake. Or Princess, I’m not really sure.”

“How is she blue?” Janeway stared at the little chick with the same awe Shane was feeling.

“It was just an idea I had—a genetic quirk that I thought I could bring out—and you know, there’s a lot of unknowns here, I’m not sure how healthy they’ll grow up to be, but I’m thinking I could sell them, and then have a side business selling eggs, too, you know. Something to leave Jas?”

She looked at him. “Not anytime soon, I hope?”

“No, no, I’m just talking in general. And it means I made something that matters.”

Janeway seemed puzzled. “That’s great, Shane, that really is.”

“But like...the reason I wanted to show you was because it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is.” Shane paused. “Look, I was just the town’s asshole drunk, okay? But you...you saw something and helped when no one else did. When no one expected me to change at all.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“But what you did...mattered. It made all the difference to me—” his hand landed on her shoulder before he could stop it. “You’re not stupid, Janeway. You slipped up once...that just makes you human.”

A few more tears squeezed out of her eyes, but she gave him a damp smile. “Thanks, Shane.”

Pull her into a hug, his brain commanded him, but he managed to head off that impulse this time. He sort of patted her arm instead, and ignored the fact that even that made his hand feel like it was burning. “Anytime.”

“You know, you’re a good friend.” She looked at him with those eyes twinkling.

It took him a second to respond. “That uh...that doesn’t make sense, I don’t think so.”

Janeway chuckled a little. “Sorry for...all the crying.”

“If it makes you feel better, I cried about chickens already this morning, so.”

“That does make me feel better.” There it was, a real smile. It lifted his heart. He smiled back.

And they just stood like that, for a few seconds. Shane probably would have stayed forever.

But she looked away. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah uh...I gotta get to work at some point, huh?” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

One last smile, and she was gone.

Shane exhaled very slowly. “I’m a coward, Charlie.”

Charlie gave him a cock-eyed glance and a _b’guck._

“Well that’s the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” he scoffed.

The door to the barn opened again, but this time it was Marnie, with Jas close on her heels. “Was that Janeway?”

“Yes?” He turned back to the incubator.

“Did she stay all night?”

Shane’s swiveled to look at her. “No!”

“Why not?” Marnie was holding the baby blue chick; she eased it back into the incubator. “I’ve always liked Janeway, you know.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Shane said. He must be red as a beet right now.

“What conversation?” Jas asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Jas,” Marnie said. “Shane, look at them! They’re beautiful.”

In the incubator, the little blue chicks peeped.


	15. Save It For A Rainy Day

Spring came, more gradually this year than most. There was still a little snow on the ground when the wind started swirling petals through the valley. The weather warmed up, which Shane appreciated, and more blue chickens hatched and went from tiny blue puffballs to gawky adolescents. Bad days became fewer. It was possible, Shane cautiously considered, that he was getting better.

But then again, Shane had forgotten about the rain, which started in earnest the day after the snow melted.

“Triggers don’t come from nowhere,” Rose had said. “Why do you think the rain bothers you so much?”

The problem was that knowing didn’t help. He was a little more prepared, maybe, but not enough to stave off the thirst entirely. If it was raining, it was a bad day, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

So he sat in the saloon, focusing on ignoring the rain and keeping his mood under control. 

“You okay, Shane?” Emily set down another sparkling water.

He glanced over to her. She didn’t usually ask...but on the other hand, he’d been better lately, so maybe this counted as Out of Character. “I just...don’t like the rain.”

“Really? I kind of love it.” She leaned up against the bar. “I can’t help thinking about the plants soaking up all that water, growing big and lush and beautiful.”

Shane shrugged. It was a nice thought, but it didn’t stop the drumming on the roof from gripping his hindbrain with vice-like claws. “It just makes me thirsty.”

“Ah.” She nodded understandingly, although he wasn’t sure she did understand. “Say, do you have any new chicken stories for me?”

Good of her to try and distract him. He straightened up a little. “Well, today Cupcake found a snake, chased it down, and ate it whole. About scared the hell out of me.”

Emily laughed. “That Cupcake is a feisty little rooster, isn’t he?”

“Janeway says they’re basically just dinosaurs, and she’s right.”

“Oh I like that! Little dinosaurs.” She bounced a little as she stood. “I always wanted a dinosaur as a pet when I was a kid, and turns out I already do! My parrot friend, that is,” she added.

The door slammed open—it was Elliot, followed by about half the town. “Gus! A round for me and my friends!”

A jovial little cheer went up from the bar. Wow, everyone was here, even folks like Penny and Harvey who didn’t usually come by in the evenings. “What’s going on there, do you think?” he asked Emily.

“Elliot did a reading of his new book today. I wanted to go, but I had to be here.” She pulled a face. “Excuse me, Shane, I gotta get those drinks.”

The last person to come through the door was Janeway, who immediately spotted him and smiled. Before Shane could wave, though, she was called away by Elliot.

There was a little twinge in Shane’s chest. Hm. What was that? He watched Elliot with his dumb beautiful hair and his classy suit talking to Janeway, making her smile and laugh, and it got worse.

Oh shit, he was jealous. That was a nonstarter, no, he had no right to be jealous. Janeway could do whatever she wanted, even if what she wanted to do was a fancy pants who never shut up—

“Emily, please get my friend Janeway a glass of wine,” Elliot said. 

Shane frowned and put down his drink.

“Uh, actually, Elliot—” Janeway started to say.

“I insist! I must raise a toast to the person who inspired this masterwork.”

“Elliot,” Janeway said more sharply, and still was ignored.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Elliot assured her.

“Hey Elliot!” Shane’s feet had somehow carried him over to Janeway, and he was the one who spoke. “Would you shut up and listen for once?”

Elliot was taken aback—and rightly so, Shane wasn’t really sure they’d ever spoken before—but he didn’t say anything, only looked to Janeway.

“I don’t want a drink,” she said, flatly.

“Oh.” Elliot may have looked a little embarrassed. He took the glass of wine off the counter where Emily had left it. “Well, in that case, allow me to drink to your health.”

“Thank you.”

“My apologies, of course.” Elliot lifted his glass to her, took a sip, and turned to talk to someone else.

Janeway took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Shane thought about putting a hand on her shoulder, but decided against it. “Do you want to get some air?”

“Yes.”

The two of them made their way to the front door, out of the saloon, stopping short on the front steps, because it was still raining. Not very hard, but it was indeed raining.

Janeway didn’t seem bothered. She plopped down on the steps, still mostly covered by the roof, and after a moment’s hesitation, Shane eased himself down beside her.

“Thanks for that,” she said. “That was close.”

“Having all kinds of close calls today, aren’t we?” he muttered.

She gave him a curious look.

He waved a hand at nature at large. “It’s the rain, for me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to drag you out here, then.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Inside, outside, doesn’t matter to me. Are you okay?”

“I will be.” She smiled at him. “My hero.”

Damn, if that didn’t just feel like the entire sun inside his chest. He smiled at her.

After a good, pure, perfect moment, she looked away. “My self-control is just...garbage. ADHD, you know?” She sighed. “Until last year, I hated...my job and my life so much that the only time things were good was when I was drunk.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Shane nodded into the rain. “What did you used to do that you hated so much?”

“I was a coder. Computers.” Janeway shook her head. “Spend eight or nine hours a day in a cubicle writing lines of nonsense on a screen. I worked for Joja, and every day they’d take the code and it would disappear, and I’d start all over again. Not building anything. And I’d try to quit drinking, but the reason I drank stayed exactly the same, so it never took until I moved out here.”

“I’m glad you did,” Shane offered.

“Me too,” she said softly. She nudged him a little. “What about you, why do you hate the rain?”

“Uh…” Woof, he didn’t think he’d be talking about this. It was probably good to talk about it, right? So that it wasn’t a secret. “I started drinking when I was like sixteen. My dad told me...he told me to get my act together or he’d kick me out, and I didn’t get my act together, so for a while, in high school, I was...homeless. It’s hard to be homeless in the rain.”

He was worried she’d just pity him, but she looked genuinely concerned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for Amy—my cousin Amy, Jas’ mom—I’d probably be dead.”

“I’m glad you’re not.”

“Me too,” Shane said before thinking about it, trapped in her eyes again, and he realized that at this moment in time, he meant it. And even better, it made her smile.

Her fingers were like, right next to his on the step. It would be easy to just brush his hand against hers…

“I lied to you, Shane,” she said.

Well. He hadn’t expected that. Dubious, he asked, “About what?”

“I remember everything I did the night I was drunk.”

“Oh.” And then the enormity of that statement hit him. “Oh…”

“Yeah.” She gulped.

“And you lied because…”

“I wanted to see if you’d bring it up.”

“You have underestimated how much of a coward I am.”

She gave him a puzzled frown. “Why would not bringing it up be cowardly?”

Shane sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I was afraid you made a pass at me because you were drunk and I was right there.”

“As opposed to making a pass at you because I like you? Because…” she hesitated. “Because I do. I do like you.”

Shane blinked a couple of times, trying to make that sentence compute. “That doesn’t seem very likely.”

“But I do.” She moved her hand, laid it on top of his.

“That’s um...that’s kind of a relief, because I like—I like you too.”

She nodded. “I thought that might be the case.”

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“People in recovery aren’t supposed to date each other, Shane,” she said, looking him in the eye. “What if we just end up enabling each other? What if we both mess up? What if sober me isn’t any better at relationships than drunk me?”

Oh boy, that was too many questions. “I don’t—I don’t know.”

Her expression was verging on despair.

“Hey.” He turned over the hand hers was laid on, and added his other hand to the sandwich. “Maybe this is something and maybe it isn’t, but we’ll...we have friends. We can have help, if we ask. We’re not alone.”

She considered this, and in between his palms, her hand relaxed a little. He let go, allowing her hand to stay if it wanted to, and it seemed to want to.

“You know, therapy’s been really good for you,” she said.

“Don’t tell Rose that, she’s gonna get a big head.”

Janeway laughed, and let her head fall against his shoulder, which was maybe the best feeling that Shane had ever felt.

Their fingers intertwined as they settled in, each leaning a little on the other, watching the rain leave ripples in the puddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading this! I'd love to know what you think. Also, this will not be the last we see of these two, so stay tuned.


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